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He tried to remember why he had called for Sorcor.

He looked down at the disgusting mess in his bed.

‘I want this cleaned up.’ He managed to sound firmly in command, as if he were speaking of a sloppy deck.

‘Have a hand heat some water for a bath for me. And lay out a clean shirt.’ He looked up at Sorcor’s incredulous stare and realized he was treating him more like a valet than his second-in-command.

‘You understand that how I appear when I interrogate the prisoners is important. They must not see me as a crippled wreck in a wad of dirty bedding.’

‘Prisoners?’ Sorcor asked stupidly.

‘Prisoners,’ Kennit replied firmly. ‘I directed that three were to be saved, did I not?’

‘Yessir. But that was…’

‘And were not three saved for me to question?’

‘I have one,’ Sorcor admitted uneasily. ‘Or what’s left of one. Your woman has been at him.’

‘What?’

‘It was his fault,’ Etta growled low as a threatening cat. ‘All his fault that you were hurt.’ Her eyes had gone to alarming slits.

‘Well. One you say,’ Kennit attempted a recovery.

What kind of a creature had he brought aboard his ship?

Don’t think of that just now. Take command.

‘See to my orders, then. When I’ve made myself presentable, I’ll want the prisoner brought here.

I don’t wish to see much of the crew just now. How did the rest of the capture go?’

‘Slick as a plate of guts, sir. And we got a little bonus with this one.’ Despite the anxiety etched in Sorcor’s face, he grinned.

‘Seems this ship was a bit special. Carrying a bunch of regular slaves, but forward was a batch that were a gift from the Satrap of Jamaillia himself to some high muckamuck in Chalced. A troupe of dancers and musicians, with all their instruments and fancy duds and pots of face paint. And jewels, several nice little casks of sparklies… I stowed those under your bunk, sir. And an assortment of fine cloths, lace, some silver statues and bottled brandies. A very nice little haul. Not weighty, but all of the best quality.’ He gave a sideways glance at Kennit’s stump.

‘Perhaps you’d like to sample some of the brandy now yourself. ’

‘In a bit. These dancers and musicians… are they tractable? How do they feel about having their journey interrupted?’ Why hadn’t they thrown them overboard with the rest of the crew?

‘Wonderful, sir. They’d all been taken as slaves, you see.

The company was in debt, so when the owners went bust, the Satrap ordered the dancers and musicians seized as well.

Which wasn’t quite legal, but being the Satrap, I suppose he doesn’t have to worry about that part.

No, they’re happy as clams at being captured by pirates.

Their captain already has them at work, making up songs and dances to tell the whole story of it.

You being the hero of the piece, of course. ’

‘Of course.’ Songs and dances. Kennit suddenly felt unaccountably weary. ‘We’re… at anchor. Where? Why?’

‘Cove don’t have a name that I know, but it’s shallow here.

The Sicerna was taking on water; had been for some time.

Slaves in the bottom hold were just about waterlogged all the time.

Seemed best to anchor her up where she couldn’t sink too far while we rigged extra pumps for her.

Then I thought we’d make for Bull Creek.

We’ve got plenty of manpower to keep the pumps going all the way there. ’

‘Why Bull Creek?’ Kennit asked.

Sorcor shrugged. ‘There’s a decent haul-out beach there.’ He shook his head. ‘She’ll take some work before she’ll be seaworthy again. And Bull Creek has been raided twice in the last year by slavers, so I think we’ll be welcomed there.’

‘There. You see,’ Kennit said faintly. He smiled to himself.

Sorcor was right. The man had learned much from him.

Put a ship there, speak persuasively there, and he could win another little town over.

What could he say to them. ‘If the Pirate Isles had one ruler… that raiders feared… people could live…’ A tremble ran through him.

Etta rushed at him. ‘Lie back, lie back. You’ve gone white as a sheet.

Sorcor, go for those things, the bath and all that.

Oh, and bring in the basin and bandaging I left on the deck outside.

I’ll want them now.’ Kennit listened in dismay as she ordered his mate about with a fine disdain for protocol.

‘Sorcor can bandage this,’ Kennit declared mistrustfully.

‘I’m better at it,’ she asserted calmly.

‘Sorcor —’ he began again, but now the first mate dared to interrupt him with, ‘Actually, sir, she has quite a nice touch for it. Took care of all our boys after the last set-to, and did a fine job of it. I’ll see to the wash-water.

’ Then he was gone, leaving Kennit helpless and alone with the bloodthirsty wench.

‘Now sit still,’ she told him, as if he could get up and run away.

‘I’m going to lift your leg up and put a pad underneath it so we don’t soak all your bedding.

Then when we’re finished, we’ll give you clean linens.

’ He clenched his teeth and squinted his eyes and managed not to make a sound as she lifted his stump and deftly slid more folded rags under it.

‘Now I’m going to wet the old bandages before I try to take them off. They pull less that way.’

‘You seem to know a great deal about this,’ he gritted out.

‘Whores get beaten up a lot,’ she pointed out pragmatically. ‘If the women in a house don’t take care of each other, who will?’

‘And I should trust the care of my injury to the woman who cut my leg off?’ he asked coolly.

All her motion ceased. Like a flower wilting, she sank down on the floor beside his bed.

Her face was very pale. She leaned forwards until her forehead rested on the edge of his bed.

‘It was the only way I could save you. I’d have cut off both my hands instead of your leg, if that would have saved you. ’

This declaration struck Kennit as so profoundly absurd that he was speechless for a moment. The charm, however, was not. ‘Captain Kennit can be a heartless pig. But I assure you that I understand that you did what you had to do to preserve me. I thank you for your deed.’

Shock warred with fury that the charm would so betray itself to another.

He immediately clapped his hand over it, only to feel tiny teeth sink savagely into the meat of his palm.

He snatched his hand away with a gasp of pain as Etta lifted her face to regard him with tear-filled eyes.

‘I understand,’ she said hoarsely. ‘There are many roles a man has to play. It is probably necessary that Captain Kennit be a heartless pig.’ She shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile.

‘I do not hold it against the Kennit who is mine.’

Her nose had turned red and her leaky eyes were most distressing.

Worse, she dared to believe him capable of thanking her for cutting off his leg.

Mentally he cursed his sly, malicious charm for putting him in such a fix, even as he grasped at the straw of hope that she truly believed such words could come from his lips.

‘Let’s say no more about it,’ he suggested hastily.

‘Make the best you can of the wretched mess of my leg.’

The water she used to soak the bandaging free was warm as blood.

He scarcely felt it, until she began gingerly to peel the layers of linen and lint from the wound.

Then he turned his head aside and focused on the wall until the edges of his vision began to waver.

Sweat sheeted his body. He wasn’t even aware that Sorcor had come back until the mate offered him an open bottle of brandy.

‘A glass?’ Kennit asked disdainfully.

Sorcor swallowed. ‘From the look of your leg, I thought it might be a waste of time.’

If Sorcor hadn’t said that, Kennit might have been able not to look at his stump. But now as the sailor fumbled clumsily in a cupboard for an appropriate glass, Kennit turned his head slowly to look down to where his sound, strong, muscular leg had once been.

The dirty bandaging had actually cushioned the shock.

Seeing his leg end in a wad of stained fabric was not the same as seeing his leg stop in a mangle of chewed and seared flesh.

The end of it looked partially cooked. His gorge rose, and sour bile bubbled into the back of his throat.

He swallowed it back, refusing to disgrace himself in front of them.

Sorcor’s hand was shaking as he offered him the glass.

Ridiculous. The man had dealt worse injuries than the one he was looking at now.

Kennit took the glass and downed the brandy at a gulp.

Then he took a shaky breath. Well, perhaps his luck had held in one odd way.

At least the whore knew how to doctor him.

Snatching even that bare comfort away from him, Etta said in a quiet whisper to Sorcor, ‘This is a mess. We need to get him to a healer. And quickly.’

He counted three breaths as he drew them. He gestured with the glass at Sorcor, but when the man tried to fill his glass, Kennit took the bottle from him instead. One drink. Three breaths. Another drink. Three breaths. No. It was time, it was time now.

He pushed himself up to a full sitting position again.

He looked down at the thing on the bed that had been his leg.

Then he untied the lace of his nightshirt at his throat.

‘Where is my wash-water?’ he demanded brusquely.

‘I have no wish to sit here in my own stink. Etta. Leave off that until I am washed. Lay out clean garments for me, and find clean linens for this bed. I will be properly washed and dressed before I interrogate my prisoner.’

Sorcor cast a sideways glance at Etta before he said quietly, ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but a blind man isn’t going to notice how you’re dressed.’

Kennit looked at him evenly. ‘Who is our prisoner?’